Nemesis of the Knight
by 2adlihtam1010
Summary: The full story of how psychiatrist Harleen Quinzel falls in love with the Clown Prince of crime while he's a patient at Arkham. She's supposed to be helping him find his sanity, but during their sessions, she begins to see the world from a completely new perspective as she finds herself getting drawn into the Joker's world.
1. Chapter 1

For the past couple of weeks, Gotham had been beneath heavy, purple storm clouds. The rain had been torrential and with almost no respite. It was utterly miserable. Today however, Harley opened the curtains of her apartment to be met with glimpses of sunshine in the overcast sky. She felt a smile tug at her lips. Something told her this was going to be a good day.

Turning away from the window, she opened her wardrobe and pulled out a white blouse, dark trousers and a plain blue bra with matching panties. After her shower last night, she had braided her hair while it was still wet, so when she pulled out her hairband and gently unwound the plaits, her golden locks hung in soft curls.

She slipped out of her pyjamas and dressed as quickly as she could. Gingerly applying mascara and a thin layer of lipstick, Harley surveyed herself in the mirror. _It'll have to do_ _I'm already late_. Throwing on her coat, she grabbed her keys and handbag from the side and left her flat.

Once outside, Harley jogged to her car and hastily climbed in. Maybe she could make it to work in time to grab breakfast from the dingy cafeteria at the asylum. The traffic was thick as she joined the swarm of commuters. Thankfully, Arkham lay on the outskirts of Gotham and soon its wrought iron gates loomed in front of her; sandwiched between tall, stone walls that ringed the grounds.

She pulled up and flashed her ID at the guard, who barely looked away from his newspaper and coffee before waving her through.

This wasn't really surprising. Despite the ridiculous amount of funding from Wayne Enterprises over the years, security was generally weak and breakouts from the patients weren't uncommon.

The driveway was long and bordered by dead or dying trees. Arkham asylum itself looked like it was straight out of a comic, with gothic-style windows, grey walls and narrow front doors. Harley stepped out of her car and rushed up the steps to the entrance, glancing at the sign to her right which read in bold letters 'Arkham Asylum for the criminally insane'. The receptionist smiled politely as Harley hurried past her to her office.

The corridors were all redone at some point, but the paint had faded to a dismal grey and flaked off in some places in pieces the size of playing cards. Her heels clicked loudly as she strode through the identical passages. Not for the first time she wondered how easy it would be to get lost down here; to take a wrong turn and just keep going. True the asylum was teeming with cameras, but she doubted anyone would actually check the tapes.

Suddenly, Harley was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of running footsteps. Ahead of her, an agile figure rounded the corner and sprinted towards her. He was breathing hard and had a shock of green hair and translucent white skin. Her brain kicked into action. _Oh my god it's the Joker._ She had only started work two months ago and wasn't cleared for the maximum security wing, so had only heard stories of the crooks and lunatics it housed. The Joker was undoubtedly the most notorious. He was the main topic of conversation in the staff room – he'd escaped a record eleven times, could not be calmed by any known sedative, cackled as though possessed and terrorised other patients and guards alike. She'd never seen him in person before, just on the news and in photographs.

Harley froze like a deer in the headlights as Joker lifted his gaze from the floor as he ran. Their eyes made contact, icy met ocean blue. The air seemed to crackle with electricity and a shiver rolled down her spine. The Joker slowed to a leisurely pace and strolled the last couple of steps towards her. She felt the breath hitch in her throat. He was unrestrained. Would he kill her? Adrenaline was coursing through her blood. There was nothing stopping him, except a three meter gap, two meters, one meter. Without warning he paused; his piercing eyes drinking her in.

'Where have you been hiding from me Doctorrr?' Joker drawled. His voice was silky smooth like honey, but deep and commanding. 'I just _know_ I would remember seeing _you_ around.'

'I-I'm not cleared for…' She was interrupted by the sound of the Clown's laughter. It started slowly then began to bubble out of him in floods; echoing off the walls. She felt her eyes widen at the sound. It was bone-chillingly hypnotising. His porcelain shoulders heaved with his chuckling, blurring the many tattoos that stained his skin.

Harley felt her eyes roam over his body from top to bottom. His unnaturally green hair was smoothed back and was a stark contrast to his pale skin. His forehead sported dark scrawly ink that spelt 'damaged'. Hairless eyebrows sat above his shining blue eyes, which reminded Harley of a predator's. His smile was blood red and his metal teeth glinted under the corridor lighting. Broad and muscular shoulders shook with his laughter and were covered in a random collection of 'ha's and drawings. He was wearing Arkham issued tracksuit bottoms and slippers and looked completely breath-taking. _Breathtakingly dangerous,_ Harley mentally corrected herself.

At that moment, three guards rounded the corner at the end of the corridor, brandishing batons, tasers and a straitjacket. Puffing from exertion, the closest guard struck a still cackling Joker in the stomach. If anything his laughter grew louder. He didn't resist the restraints that were swiftly strapped round him.

The slowest guard, who'd only just caught up with his colleagues, put his hands on his knees as he panted. He did a double take when he saw Harley standing wide-eyed and almost as pale as the Joker himself.

'Doctor Quinzel are you alright?'

'Er yes thank you Mr. Cash.' Harley whispered back to the head of Arkham security.

'How in god's name did you get him to stop running?' Aaron Cash turned back to the two guards who were struggling to lead Joker back down towards the maximum security block. 'Can one of you shut him up, he's giving me chills.' He snapped.

Now completely confined by his straight jacket, Joker was roughly struck again. It was like he was superhuman Harley thought, as she watched it have no effect on the clown at all. In frustration, a guard brought a taser to the Joker's neck. There was a sickening crackle.

'Hahahah..haha..ha..ha..hahaha…'

Aaron visibly stiffened at the continuous laughter and marched over to the Clown Prince of crime. With a fury, he hit Joker in the gut with his baton once, twice, three times. 'And that's for giving us the run-around you physchotic monster.'

'Haha I think the exercise did you _good_ Cash, you're getting _fat_. Whoops _my_ mistake you already _were_.' Cash glared daggers at the Clown but Joker continued unfazed. 'Sorry to hurt your _feelings_ but I didn't want to sugar coat it in case you _ate_ that too. Hahahaha…' Harley found herself pressing her lips together tightly to suppress a smile.

'Take this _freak_ back to his cell.' Aaron spat.

Before he could raise his arm to strike Joker again, Harley stepped forward. She couldn't stand by and witness what was actually an unnecessary assault on an unarmed, restrained patient - even if that patient was an infamous serial killer. _This isn't fair._

Clearing her throat she allowed a bit of venom to slip into her voice. 'Enough Mr. Cash. He needs _care_ , not violence - and as an inmate at Arkham he's entitled to get it.'

There was a beat of silence. _He stopped laughing._

'Of course you are right Harleen,' Cash nodded slowly; not entirely agreeing, but being unable to say so.

She bristled and suppressed a shudder at the way her name sounded in his mouth. Plastering an attempt at a smile on her face she added, 'It would be good if you could remember that in future', then turned on her heel and fled the four pairs of eyes that watched her go.

The Joker's eerie laughter seemed to follow her for the rest of the day.

 **I will try to update as soon as possible – please tell me what you think I'd love to know everyone's thoughts and ideas on the story! I would also be really interested hearing people's suggestions for the plot - hope you enjoyed reading it :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Harley sat at the desk in her office and massaged her temples slowly. Therapy sessions with her low profile patients had gone smoothly; in fact there had been no noteworthy incidents at all today. On the one hand this was a good thing – it was always gratifying to help Arkham's residents towards recovery – however a small part of her craved the challenge of one of the twisted minds down in max.

She sighed and drank her lukewarm coffee. It had been three days since her encounter with the Joker, but when she blinked, his crimson smile still danced behind her eyelids. It was maddening. What would've happened if the guards hadn't got there so soon…would they have arrived to a doctor bleeding out on the floor? Why had he stopped running to speak to her? Every time she replayed the moment their eyes met in her head, Harley felt like she'd been submerged in icy water. _Those eyes._ They were like a shark's, so bright and intense; it was like they could see into her soul.

He hadn't been escaping, that much she was sure of. The Clown's escapes were always well-orchestrated and flamboyant, designed to be memorable and also, she suspected, to wave the middle finger at Batman. There was no way he decided to simply run out through the front doors for his twelfth breakout. It wasn't his style. So what was he doing?

Most likely, when the opportunity had presented itself, he had bolted simply for the sake of it. She knew the maximum security patients weren't allowed to socialise, (for the safety of the other inmates) meaning the grimy recreational rooms were off limits to them and they spent 23 hours in their cells. So not only was the Joker unable to do any substantial exercise during his rehabilitation, but he was also probably bored shitless – a dangerous combination. Cash's words came back to her, ' _that's for giving us the run-around you physchotic monster_ '. She nodded to herself, it made sense she reasoned. He seemed like the kind of person who would enjoy a chase.

Harley jumped at a sharp knocking on her door. She smoothed her blouse and called, 'Come in'. The doorknob twisted and Dr. Leland stepped into her office. The elderly, no-nonsense doctor looked tired and worn out. _Perks of the job_ Harley thought bitterly to herself. 'Hello Joan what can I do for you?'

'Dr Arkham wishes to see you Harleen.' Her voice was clipped and cold. How she managed to get patients to open up to her remained a mystery.

Raising her eyebrows, Harley asked, 'Me? What about?'

'That is none of my business. Though I suggest you don't keep him waiting.'

Harley nodded her agreement; Jeremiah Arkham had a temper almost as well-known as the asylum itself and was also wickedly impatient.

Her chair scraped back as she stood. Joan briskly spun and walked back down the corridor as Harley grabbed her non-prescription glasses from her desk and slid them on. She didn't technically need them as there was nothing wrong with her vision, however Harley felt more professional with them on. Making her way to Dr Arkham's office, she steeled herself before arriving at his office door and bringing her knuckles to the glass.

'You're late Harleen.'

'Sorry Doctor.'

'Please come in and take a seat.' Harley sat on the chair in front of his desk and folded her hands in her lap. 'I've heard you've been very successful in reforming your patients.'

Not waiting for a response, he continued without looking up from his computer screen. 'I must be frank with you, in terms of doctors, Arkham is worryingly understaffed.'

This was no secret. The practitioners at Arkham had a nasty habit of quitting, becoming insane themselves or dying. 'How long have you been a psychologist here?'

'Two months doctor.' A scowl tugged at Jeremiah's mouth.

'That'll have to do I suppose. I don't want to beat around the bush. I'd like you to take on a case of a patient from the maximum security wing under the asylum. Normally, I'd ask someone with more experience, however Wayne Enterprises has generously funded the asylum to rehabilitate these notorious criminals and it is urgent they all begin treatment as soon as possible. There simply isn't anyone else. Please don't panic Harleen, you will only treat one to begin with, and continue your other sessions as normal.'

Excitement coiled in Harley's stomach. This was what she'd been waiting for; an opportunity to push herself. _Please give me Joker_. The thought surfaced before she could stop it.

Dr Arkham looked up from his keyboard and handed over a thick file to the young psychiatrist from a draw in his desk. Harley took it with slightly trembling hands. 'Read through this during your lunch break. You're first session is at one o' clock.'

With that his eyes returned to his work, non-verbally dismissing her. She stood and practically bounded back to her office. The thick file was heavy and made a loud smack as she dropped it on her desk. Who would it be? Cautiously, Harley reached out and turned over the brown cover to reveal the file of one Peter Merkel – alias 'Ragdoll'. She felt a flush of disappointment and chided herself. Surely she could not expect Dr. Arkham to give her their highest profile patient just like that.

Her eyes scanned the articles and notes. He was a master contortionist and hypnotist who had fought Batman on many occasions. He'd been locked away for almost four years and hadn't responded to any treatment that his previous psychologists had prescribed. Arkham had given her a no-hope case. She cursed under her breath. Well she'd show him.

One o' clock arrived surprisingly quickly and Harley waited in one of the asylum's interview rooms, behind a metal table. She fidgeted with the hem of her blouse and tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear, allowing the nerves to get the better of her. A clipboard and pen rested beside her elbow and she wore her glasses and a lab coat.

There was a shuffling of feet and then the door clanged open revealing two guards and a blindfolded patient. Surprisingly, Peter didn't have a straitjacket on, just thick cuffs around his wrists and ankles. A guard noticed her scrutiny, 'He manages to wriggle out of all the jackets we put him in doctor.' She nodded silently as he was pushed into the chair opposite her and his restraints bolted to it.

Harley thanked the guards and the door swung shut as they left. For a few seconds there was only silence. Then Harley pushed her glasses up her nose and began the session.

'Good morning Peter, my name's Dr. Quinzel, how are you today?'

'I'd be a lot better if you got rid of the blindfold Blondie.' The black piece of cloth was specially designed so that he could see out but no one could look at his eyes. The asylum had learned, from previous experiences, the consequences of letting a doctor meet his hypnotic gaze.

'I'm sorry Peter but I'm not allowed to remove it.' Harley said gently. 'Are you okay with me calling you Peter or is there another name you would prefer?'

There was a pause as the Rag doll considered this. 'It makes no difference to me.'

Harley scribbled down his words. 'Are you sleeping well?'

'What's this?' He smirked. 'A shrink asking about my naps, not the big bad demons from my troubled past. What a pleasant surprise.'

She smiled tentatively. 'You're well-being is very important Mr. Merkel.'

'Well if you must know, I have been sleeping awfully recently. The cell next to mine contains an obnoxious clown who laughs and shouts at random hours of the night. ' At the mention of the Joker, Harley felt her back straighten and her breath caught in her throat.

'Ah you've met him I see.' Peter smiled knowingly as he watched her posture change. 'On the off chance you treat him too; I suggest you fill him to the eyeballs with drugs so that the rest of us can get some decent rest. It's like living in a bloody circus again.'

Ignoring the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach at the mention of the Clown Prince, Harley didn't miss his choice of words and hastily noted he had said living in a circus _again_. Next to that, she wrote, _speaks about his experience of the circus in a negative tone. Cause of past trauma or stress?_

Looking up from her clipboard, she opened her mouth to speak. 'Mr. Merkel, you are my only maximum security patient.'

'Hm…' He mulled over this bit of information. 'Well that is interesting isn't it my dear. So how is it you met the Prince of Gotham's criminal underworld?' He spoke the Joker's name with a condescending leer in his voice.

Harley glanced at the clock, they were getting off topic. Before she could say something to steer the conversation back to Mr. Merkel himself, he spoke again.

'Oh I know. You're the doctor from the _corridor_ aren't you?' Her mouth dropped open in shock. 'I heard him speak about you three days ago as he was brought back to his cell. I believe his exact words were, 'Now Cashy boy, I want you to _run_ to the good Dr. Arkham and tell him the Prince of Crime wants the beautiful, blonde doctor from the corridor to _treat_ him.' Harley gasped as Merkel imitated the Joker's drawl perfectly. _He called me beautiful_. She shook her head to clear the little voice that had piped up. _That's not important_. Peter laughed at her reaction as an unwanted blush spread along her cheeks. 'Oh this is delightful, he'll be _so_ jealous.'

She changed the subject as fast as she could. 'Mr. Merkel, how old are you?'

The rest of the session passed relatively uneventfully, without any other mention of Joker (thank god). Harley didn't manage to get much information of importance out of her patient, as he expertly dodged her questions. However she wasn't troubled by it, as she was being preoccupied with not allowing her thoughts to wonder to the icy blue eyes that lingered at the back of her mind.

That night when she fell asleep, she was back in Arkham, listening to his cackling echo off the walls of his cell. She couldn't see him, but she sensed he was close. Harley looked up and down the corridor. In the dream, she wanted to find him, she _needed_ to find him. After kicking off her heels, she jogged down passage after passage of identical walls and floors, unable to reach the source of his tantalising laughter or his luring eyes.

 **Hi, thank you so much for reading this chapter I hope you enjoyed it. I want to apologise for the lack of Joker-Harley interaction but I promise that there will be some in the next one! Thank you to everyone who favorited, followed and reviewed! I wasn't sure if anyone would like the story so it was lovely reading your comments. Of course if you have any suggestions don't hesitate to let me know I'd love to hear them!**


	3. Chapter 3

Harley had sat through a total of three sessions with Peter Merkel by the end of the week. Despite his twisted sense of humour (which she tried her best to ignore), he was undeniably fascinating. His past was riddled with abuse and homelessness, until he literally ran away with the circus; where he earned money through his contortionist act. She wrote down every word he said and questioned him on details of his story, offering comfort if the memory seemed to be distressing him. Even Dr. Arkham was shocked as she handed in her extensive progress report on the Ragdoll's therapy, his mouth dropping open as he read through her notes.

Her weekend passed quickly and she drove to the asylum on Monday morning in a surprisingly good mood. When she arrived, an alarm was flashing red and yellow behind the receptionist's desk.

'What's happened?'

The woman looked up from her paperwork. 'It's Waylon Jones doctor, he attacked two guards this morning who brought him his breakfast and damn near started a riot down in max. They've tripled the security around his cell and he's been contained so there's no need to panic.'

Smiling, Harley nodded her thanks. Killer Croc seemed to cause an incident every other month so this wasn't exactly out of the ordinary. She checked her watch. _Shit._ her session with Peter started in five minutes. She hurried towards the interview room, hoping not to have wasted too much of their time. Rounding the corner, she laid eyes on a single guard leaving the therapy room. He was young, possibly twenty, with dark hair and stubble over his chin. She'd never seen him before - he must be new.

'Are you Dr. Quinzel?'

'The one and only.' She flashed him a grin.

'Your patient is waiting for you in his straitjacket.'

For some reason, this sentence sent a wave of dread through her, but she couldn't place why, so shook it off.

'Thank you…' She glanced at the ID pinned on his shirt. 'David. Where is the other guard?'

'Most of the staff are occupied with the croc this morning so it's just me. What a first day am I right?'

She chuckled along with him before opening the door and slipping inside. There was a click as it locked behind her. Before even turning around, she knew something was wrong – she felt goose bumps spread along her arms.

'Doctor Quinzel, you're late.' One hand still on the door handle, she turned to face the room. _Oh my god._ David hadn't known that Merkel could escape his jackets, so he had used one instead of shackles. Peter was sitting, unrestrained, on the chair that was usually hers. His straitjacket was bunched up under the table. Her eyes flicked to a scrap of black material in the corner of the room. _His blindfold_. With a gasp, she met her patient's eyes for the first time.

They were closer to gold than brown, flecked with amber and completely captivating. She felt her shoulders involuntarily relax and her hand dropped off the door; falling by her side. Her fear slipped away as she felt herself get lost in the swirling bronze pools beneath his eyebrows. _What was happening?_ 'Please…stop,' was all she could manage.

'I am sorry about this doctor, I have enjoyed our sessions, but I would be a fool to pass up this opportunity. Surely you can understand.' Harley barely registered his words, instead listening to his tone which was so soothing and calm. It made her feel warm and comfortable; she knew she would do whatever that voice told her. 'Call David to open the door Harleen.'

Her mouth formed the words without her making any conscious decision for it to do so. 'David open the door.' _If he escapes with me helping him, I'll lose my job_. For some reason, she couldn't muster up a single emotion about this thought. A part of her knew that it should scare her; but she felt totally at ease.

'Give me a second doctor.' The hinges creaked as the handle turned, revealing a confused guard, key card still in hand.

'David,' Peter whispered from behind her, 'Go to sleep.' He dropped like a sack of bricks. 'Now Harleen, come with me back to my cell, there's something I must collect before I leave. Oh and pick up the card.'

Wordlessly, Harley stooped to collect David's key card and followed the hypnotic voice down the corridor. 'When we reach the checkpoint, if there are any guards I need you to get me past them okay?'

'Okay,' she breathed.

As it turned out, there weren't any guards. A tiny voice whispered something about a crocodile in Harley's mind, but it soon drowned in the amber that was taking over her senses. She felt a pressure on her hand. Peter's fingers guided the card she was still holding to the scanner. There was a beep and a light above the door to max went green.

'Follow me doctor.'

She numbly trailed behind Merkel past cell after cell. They ran into no one, the corridors were completely empty. A faint sound of commotion reached her ears – banging and shouting – but it was muffled as if her head was underwater.

Suddenly Peter stopped and turned to a cell on their left. 'Open the door Harleen.' Harley lifted her arm to scan David's card again. There was a hiss and the door swung open. 'Wait here.' Merkel ducked inside.

'Doctor Quinzel.' She turned her head slightly. A handsome man with green hair and a wide grin stood close to the bars of his door. The tiny voice surfaced again. _It's the Joker_. 'What _are_ you doing?'

Of course Harley couldn't answer him. She found that she wanted to though. That was odd, a part of her thought, as she knew she shouldn't have been feeling anything at all.

'Are you here…willingly?' The words rolled off his tongue but still got no response. His eyes glittered dangerously. 'Has he hurt you?'

The door of Merkel's cell was ajar, not shut, but blocking him from her view. A sliver of control over her body returned. With extreme effort, she managed to move her head a couple of millimetres to either side - a silent message. _No_.

'Gooood.' The clown purred. 'Then I'd have had to kill him.' Harley's eyes widened minutely.

'If you get me outta this cell doctor I'll blindfold him for you.' Harley could hear noises that sounded like the rustling of fabric, coming from the room next to Joker. Merkel must be retrieving something from under his mattress. It was now or never.

'You…won't…h-hurt me?' She managed to choke out. A grin spread across his blood red lips.

'You'll just have to trust me _doctor_.'

If she let the clown out and he escaped too, she'd be fired. Worse - maybe even locked up herself for being crazy enough to release an unrestrained, maximum security patient. _I'm going to be fired anyway if Merkel escapes_. That was true as well. She pictured Joker being released, laughing in her face and heading down the corridor, and then Peter escaping after him. She could see herself standing in Dr. Arkham's office, while he yelled at her in rage, as they watched the security footage showing her aiding them both. What if opening the door would be like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire? She was running out of time _. I don't really have a choice do I_?

She made her decision. Moving towards Joker's cell was like walking through treacle. She shuffled forwards, concentrating on his fierce eyes. They sobered her mind and cleansed her from the molten gold that clogged her veins. The more she focused on him, the more Merkel's hold on her loosened – if only slightly. Every muscle ached from the strain. With a trembling arm, she lifted the key card agonisingly slowly.

There was a hiss. The clown stepped into the corridor. What had she done? For a second she thought he would hit her, but instead his hand reached up to tuck a golden strand of hair behind her ear. 'Thank you doctor.' For a second she couldn't breathe – and it was nothing to do with Peter at all.

At that moment, Merkel stepped out of his cell. He paused in utter shock and bewilderment at the scene in front of him. 'How did you manage to let him out?! You shouldn't have been able to do that!' His voice was furious, such a huge contrast to the sickly sweet tone he'd been using with her earlier.

Before Harley could respond, Joker removed his shirt and stepped menacingly towards Peter. 'You shouldn't speak to a _lady_ like that Ragdoll, hasn't anyone told you its _rude_?'

'Clown go to sleep.' The Joker only laughed.

'Your mind games don't work on _me_ hypnotist, I'm immune.' With impressive speed, his fist connected with Merkel's jaw; causing Peter to stumble and smack the back of his head on the metal door behind him. He crumpled on the ground, out cold. Wasting no time, the Clown Prince of crime swiftly tied his shirt round the unconscious man's head to act as a makeshift blindfold.

As soon as Merkel passed out, Harley was freed from her trance and collapsed on the floor. She rolled onto her hands and knees and threw up; tears prickling her eyes. In all honesty she was too stunned at the whole situation to feel any embarrassment. Instead she climbed shakily to her feet again. Her stomach felt odd, so did her head. How long would Peter be out for? Hours? Minutes? His shackles were nowhere in sight.

Harley kicked off her shoes and reached under her pencil skirt to pull down her tights. The Joker only raised his eyebrows, but watched her actions in silence - a rarity for him. She knelt beside the Ragdoll and pulled his hands behind his back, before binding them with her hosiery.

When she was done, Harley turned around. It was just them. No guards would come running down the corridor this time - she was on her own. Maybe the Joker had reasoned that killing her while she couldn't fight back would be no fun. Maybe that was the only reason he'd helped her stop Merkel. She froze as he opened his mouth to speak.

'Some day doctor, I'm sure you will repay your debt.' Then Joker did something completely unexpected. He slipped back into his cell and pulled the heavy door closed behind him; his figure disappearing into the shadows of his room, leaving Harley astonished and alone.

 **Hope you enjoyed the update – I did promise more Joker and Harley time in this one! Please be kind in your reviews, I'd love to hear what everyone's feelings are about the direction of the story and the characterisation! I am pretty sure I've decided on a plot for the next couple of chapters so I should be updating quite often ;)**


	4. Chapter 4

After the 'incident' this morning, as Dr. Arkham had put it, Harley had been told to take the rest of the day off and her other sessions were cancelled. She had been at home for hours, curled up on her sofa, flicking mindlessly between TV channels. She couldn't summon up any interest for what was playing on the screen. Frustrated, she pressed the off button with a sigh.

When she'd moved down from Brooklyn to pursue her career, a social life hadn't been high on her list of priorities. A small part of her regretted that, but she'd wanted to be completely focused on her new job. As a result, there wasn't really anyone she could ring up to make plans with, so Harley had accepted that she would be spending this evening alone.

She glanced at her clock. _Eight thirty_. Normally at this point, she'd change into comfortable clothes, apply a face mask and pick up a good book to read. But that wouldn't work for her today. Harley felt restless and unable to sit still. _Screw it_. She got up and begun to pace back and forth in front of her window.

How was she going to face Dr. Arkham tomorrow? Would she even have a job to go back to? What would she do if she didn't? Move back home a failure? Lingering on questions like these, she decided, was pointless. All it achieved was making her even more anxious than she already was.

A beam of light caught her eye. Turning to face the window, she studied Gotham's impressive skyline. Near the horizon on the left, the bat signal lit up the night. The masked vigilante must be out kicking criminal butt again.

 _Talking of criminals_...In what was becoming a familiar pattern, her mind wondered back to Joker. Why had he helped her? He'd quite possibly saved her from getting the sack along with whatever else it was Merkel would've asked her to do. Harley hated how vulnerable she'd been without any control over her body. She shuddered. It made her skin crawl just remembering it.

It was better to focus on this however, than the other thoughts that competed for her attention. Harley had forbidden herself from thinking about what it was like as Joker's cool hand lightly brushed her cheek. His action had been protective, almost caring. _No that's ridiculous_. Had she forgotten who he was? The Clown Prince of crime didn't do caring. He did killing. There was a _huge_ difference.

She remembered turning to face Joker after Peter had ducked into his cell. In her trance, she'd thought he was attractive. She groaned and pressed her hands to her head. How embarrassing. Although when he'd taken his shirt off… _okay that's quite enough of that_ Harley scolded herself. This train of thought was getting her nowhere _._

She walked to her bedroom and slipped out of her clothes, tossing them at the chair that sat in the corner. Pulling on an over sized t-shirt, Harley headed through to her tiny bathroom.

She decided to skip dinner, so went ahead and cleaned her teeth. (She wasn't feeling up to cooking and fatty takeaways seemed unappealing as her stomach still felt a little off.) After spitting out her toothpaste, Harley splashed cold water on her face and dried herself with a towel.

She reached over the sink to the cabinet and opened it; her eyes scanning the shelves inside. _A-ha_. Harley brought out a pot of sleeping pills and swallowed two, before padding back to her bedroom, crawling between her covers and letting her eyes flutter closed.

* * *

Dr. Arkham's office was stuffy and the pale walls were decorated with his achievements. Harley sat sheepishly, with her legs crossed, on a chair in front of his desk; shifting uncomfortably and trying not to fiddle as he scrutinised her - saying nothing.

After an unbearable amount of time, he finally spoke. 'What happened Harleen?'

'I-I went into my session and my patient was unrestrained with his blindfold off.' She tried to swallow the rising embarrassment at remembering how humiliating it had been. 'He hypnotised me and got me to take him back to his cell.'

Arkham quirked his eyebrow, no doubt wondering why on earth a patient would try and go _back_ to their cell, but didn't say anything – letting Harley finish.

'He said he didn't want to leave without something. I don't know what it was. He went into his room and left me outside.' _Just breathe Harley_. 'Then Joker saw me and asked me a couple questions that I couldn't answer because I was in the trance. He must have known what was going on, but wanted to be sure. He told me if I let him out of his cell he would blindfold Merkel for me. I managed to ask him if he'd hurt me. The answer he gave wasn't exactly a 'no', but I decided to trust him anyway and opened his door. He kept his promise of blindfolding Peter and then stepped back into his cell when I was released from my daze.'

Dr. Arkham looked unconvinced. 'Harleen, are you telling me that _while_ under the Ragdoll's influence, you were able to _speak_ to Joker _and_ open his cell?' She nodded. 'That should have been impossible, the only person who has _ever_ resisted his influence is the clown himself. How on earth did you manage it?'

'I don't know.' She answered honestly.

'And once you realised you had regained some control, you decided to open the _Joker's_ cell instead of alerting security? Do you know what he's capable of? You could have been responsible for the _murder_ of members of my staff!' Arkham's voice was accusing and a flush was working its way along his sweaty cheeks. _That's a bad sign._

'I could barely move at all doctor. If I had tried to get help, I wouldn't have made it so much as a foot down the corridor. Besides, all the guards in the complex were occupied with Mr. Jones. I followed my instincts.' _Oh god please don't fire me._

At that moment, Aaron Cash entered the office. He shot a smug smile at Harley (who suspected that after last week he didn't like her all that much) and handed a memory stick to the flustered Dr. Arkham.

The doctor plugged it into his computer and beckoned her round to his side of the desk, so that she could see his screen. Harley held her breath as the grainy video came up on the monitor.

Soundless footage showed Peter striding down the corridor smiling to himself and her walking a couple steps behind him with face like a zombie. Merkel turned and his lips moved as he said something to her. Harley watched as she opened the cell. Then Joker's head appeared behind the bars in his door and she watched their primarily one-sided conversation.

Both Cash and Arkham's eyebrows shot up as Harley shakily moved towards Joker's cell. He stepped up to her when his door unlocked and _oh shit I left that part out when I was telling the story._ Then Merkel reappeared and the clown removed his shirt and punched him. Harley saw herself fall to the ground and throw up, before tying Peter's hands. Joker stepped back into his cell and then the video ended.

Two shocked faces turned to stare at Harley. There was a beat of uncomfortable silence. Then Arkham spoke.

'I've never seen him behave like that before.' His forehead furrowed as he thought.

'You should know that, despite going against the asylum's policy, the Joker is not receiving any psychological treatment at the moment. This is because all of his previous doctors have either quit, been found dead in their homes, or in most cases - killed by the clown himself. We were losing too many good people, not to mention that no one is keen to take the job.'

The doctor coughed before continuing. 'For releasing a patient as dangerous as Joker Harleen, I am going to remove you from your position here at Arkham.' Her mouth dropped open in protest but Jeremiah raised a finger to silence her. 'However, if you'll accept it, I would like to offer you a new post as the clown's primary psychiatrist.'

That was not what she'd been expecting. _Is he serious?_

Arkham hurriedly continued in an effort to justify himself. 'I am certainly not claiming to understand the clown's tangled mind.' He stressed. 'However, I think he may have a slight fondness for you. I truly believe, had you been anyone else, he'd have torn your throat out as soon as he crossed the threshold of his cell. What I'm trying to say is... you may be his best hope for recovery.'

Shock flooded Harley's system. _Oh my god_.

'Of course I'll accept it thank you so much doctor!' Arkham nodded at her response and rose from his chair to open a filing cabinet. He pulled open a draw filled with folders that ranged in colour from crisp white to aged yellow.

Joker's file was twice the size of any other patient's. She marveled at its weight as it was passed to her. 'I'll arrange your first session for nine o' clock this morning. Don't be late and good luck'

Harley couldn't believe it! She stood up and turned to leave. 'Thank you, you won't regret it.'

'Oh and Harleen…Please be careful.' She sent him a smile before stepping out into the corridor; barely able to contain her excitement. She was going to be the Joker's doctor! It was a dream come true - a chance to challenge herself and prove her skills as a psychologist. Not to mention spend time with the highest profile criminal in Gotham and learn more about his origins and motives. And to add to that, he would be her only patient, so she could focus all her time on him. The thought made her pulse quicken. Could she be the one to finally start his rehabilitation into society? Maybe that was pushing it a bit, but hey, a girl can hope.

At nine o' clock, Harley was waiting in a therapy room, glasses and lab coat on, with her empty note page open in front of her. The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor, followed by a signature laugh. This was it. Her heart was thumping heavily in her chest. The footsteps paused and were followed by a click as the lock drew back. She held her breath as the door swung open.

 **This was a filler chapter so I apologise for the lack of action! Hopefully it was still fun to read though. Thanks again to everyone who favorited and followed. Seeing that and reading your lovely comments really made my day!**


	5. Chapter 5

The dismal therapy room was grey and bare. There was only one window; which let in cold blue light from the clouded sky outside, making Joker's porcelain skin almost seem to glow. His vibrant green hair framed his face, instead of being slicked back with hair gel, and Harley found it made him look softer – more human almost. His arms were confined by a straitjacket and the blood-curdling sneer he'd worn as the guards had roughly shoved him into his metal chair a second ago dropped as soon as they left the room. His icy gaze locked on hers. Flashing her a grin, Joker lent back in his chair, completely at ease - amusement dancing in his eyes.

'Good morning Mr. Joker how are you today?'

'All the better for seeing you sweetheart'. Harley blushed deeply, sweeping her long ponytail over her shoulder. Could he see how fast her heart was beating? It was thumping so hard in her chest she felt like her skin was vibrating.

'Please call me Doctor or Dr. Quinzel; whichever you're more comfortable with.'

'You care about my _comfort_ Doc?' He drawled in a low voice.

She nodded. 'Of course.'

'How about taking off the jacket so I can relax a bit?' Joker asked with a sinful smirk.

'You know I can't do that.'

'Shame,' He pouted. 'But worth a try.'

Harley shook her head with a small smile and brought out a pen from her lab coat pocket. She set it carefully down next to her notes folder and adjusted her glasses.

'Mr. Joker,' She began. 'I understand that in your previous sessions you have shown little to no interest in working with your psychiatrist…'

'On the contrary Doc, I want to work with _you_.' She lowered her gaze, taking a sudden interest in her hands.

'…and I'm just curious why you actually agreed to therapy.'

The clown opposite her sat up and grinned, his metal teeth glinting as they caught the light. 'Do you know what it's like to be in a cell all day Doc?' He purred. 'It gets so _boring_. But you… there's something about you doc-tor. You have so much…' His eyes swept over her body as he considered his next word. 'Potential.' Harley frowned slightly. What on earth did he mean by that? He smiled wider at her reaction; a sparkle in his eyes.

She cleared her throat, not wanting for them to run out of time before they'd covered a good amount of ground. 'Will you try to be honest with me ?'

'I will if you will.'

'You can trust me, I will try to do everything I can for you.' She cringed internally at how cliché that sounded, but kept up a professionally neutral face. 'I'm going to ask you a few routine questions, so that I can fill out your profile.'

Harley glanced at the page, a few sections had brief scribbles in them, but it generally held no info about the Joker whatsoever. She took a deep breath. Clearly he wouldn't be co-operative if his past answers (or lack thereof) were anything to go by.

Under the section of his name, scrawly handwriting had filled in a few of his well-known aliases. _May as well make a start here._ 'Can you tell me your birth name?'

'Sure I will.' He lent forwards, his eyes thawed from their frosty colour to a calm sea-blue. _Like the calm before a storm._

'Joker.'

It wasn't like she'd actually expected a helpful reply. 'Do you remember the name of the man before the Joker?' Harley pressed carefully.

He let his tongue run along his bottom lip. 'Of course Doc.'

She pushed her glasses up her nose and opened her mouth to speak, but he got there first. 'Harleen, all doctors ever _do_ is ask questions. It gets _tedious_.'

'If you open up enough to me to get past this stage,' She gestured in the direction of his profile page. 'You could talk for ages about what ever took your fancy. I just want you to be able to express yourself so I can get to know you.'

His eyes followed her fingers as they tucked a loose strand of hair from hair ponytail behind her ear. 'I want to get to know you too Doc.' That certainly took her by surprise. He watched her raise her eyebrows before adding, 'although maybe in a different way.'

Her mouth dropped. His file had said nothing about suggestive comments! She'd read his intimidation tactics thoroughly - this wasn't mentioned at all. Maybe he was just trying to make her uncomfortable. He was certainly doing a great job of it. Or maybe she'd just misinterpreted him, yes that sounded more likely, she reasoned.

'Let me tell you something for nothing Doc, I won't answer any of those questions, at least not in the way you want. 'He amended. 'So why don't we just ah, just skip to the second part?'

'I can't, it's protocol to..'

With incredible speed, he pressed his chest to the table, pursed his full lips and blew the page onto the grey floor. (The rest of her notes were secured in the heavy brown folder.) Sitting back up again, he laughed heartily at her stunned expression; causing goose bumps to rise down her arms.

She covered for her shock with a scowl and pushed her chair back to gather the fallen document.

'Alright Mr. Joker, this session is about whatever works for you.' She sat back down and smoothed her skirt. 'What would you like to talk about?'

His chuckles slowly subsided as he watched her pick up her pen. 'Well how I see it, is that in theory these sessions let you get a glimpse into _my_ mind, but I learn nothing about _you_. That's not really fair Doc. I want to play a _game_ – a get to know each other game – I'm sure you know it.' His voice was low and silky.

Harley bit her lower lip. They shouldn't spend their time playing games, on the other hand, this may be a great opportunity to get him to relax around her.

'What did you have in my mind?'

'How about truth or dare?'

She snorted. He couldn't be serious, but for once, his face held no trace of humor. 'We're not thirteen year old girls at a sleepover.' When he didn't respond, she sighed. 'Only if I get to ask you questions as well.'

'Well I'm currently a little restrained.' He purred, wiggling his shoulders under his jacket. 'So I guess no dares for me, unless of course, you plan to release me so I can play properly.'

'Just truths it is.'

This time it was him who scowled. 'Alright... but if a doctor has already asked me the question before, I won't answer.'

She nodded slowly. 'How do I know you won't just claim that for everything I ask and then answer none of them?'

He rolled his eyes and blew a strand of emerald hair out of his face. 'As I said, I'll be honest if you are … _truth_ or _dare_?'

'Truth.' The answer was a reflex, left over from her school days. She always used to choose the safer option; not much had changed it seemed. For a second, disappointment flashed over his face and she inexplicably felt a twinge of regret – like she'd let him down. _Ugh that's ridiculous._ She pushed the thought away.

'Har-leen Quin-zel…' He drew out her name generously on his tongue. 'What was it like where you grew up?'

She hesitated. _Would she be giving away any personal details_? Probably not significant ones. In the grand scheme of things this question was surprisingly tame.

'I grew up in Brooklyn with my brother, mother and her various boyfriends. My father left when I was young so I don't remember him at all. Our house was small but cosy. I shared a room with my brother for most of my childhood. We had a small T.V and our kitchen always smelled of toast. The back garden was just big enough to string a washing line across. I had never left Brooklyn until I moved out to Gotham to work at Arkham.' She glanced up at his unreadable eyes. Had she said too much? Too little? There was a beat of silence.

'Your turn Doc.' Harley let out a breath she didn't realise she was holding.

She wanted to make this question good – but to think up one his psychiatrists hadn't ever asked was a challenge in itself. There was so much she wanted to know!

'Are you – are you lonely?' She hadn't fully decided what to say as the words came out of her mouth.

He gave her a quizzical look. 'Despite my charm and good looks, I am not ah, not a _people_ person Harleen; so no I'm not lonely.' She nodded and wrote a line or two down in her notes.

' _Truth_ or _dare_?'

'Dare.' Her high voice rang clear through the therapy room. She hadn't meant to say it, it'd just slipped out. Oh no. _I take it back!_ She thought desperately.

'Good choice.' He praised her; his red lips stretching as a smile played along his mouth. 'I dare you to come over here and scratch my back, it's itchy and I can't reach it.'

'You're joking.'

'Sweetheart you wound me.' On seeing her hesitance he allowed a smirk. ' I don't bite… not unless you're into that kind of thing.'

She blushed profusely and looked away. 'It would be inappropriate, not to mention unsafe and unprofessional.'

'Harleen look at me.'

With great effort, she lifted her gaze to his.

'I won't hurt you, I give you my word. I just need some release.'

She paled.

'Oh get your mind out of the gutter!' He said with a snort. 'And accept your dare.'

Harley felt conflicted. Part of her wanted to abandon the game completely - the logical part that knew she shouldn't have agreed to it in the first place. However at the same time she wanted to keep going. She'd already got this far, and Joker was being honest with her as far as she could tell. This could be a one-off opportunity.

Slowly, she stood up and walked round the table, her shoes making a clicking sound as she crossed the tiles. The clown's body stayed facing forward, back straight as a pole. His head however, swiveled as she walked – maintaining eye contact.

Once standing behind him, She tentatively reached out a hand. Her fingers landed gently between his shoulder blades on the rough material of his jacket. Harley felt him relax into her touch and jumped out of her skin as his low voice suddenly broke the silence. 'A little lower love.'

She could feel it resonating from within him, making his back vibrate slightly. Her hand shifted lower in compliance. Harley felt his muscles even through the thick, white cloth. They were impressive; he must be stronger than she first thought. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird.

'Right there.' Timidly, she moved her fingertips up and down over the spot on his back. After a few seconds, Joker let out an almost groan and rolled his head back.

Suddenly the reality of what was happening hit like a sledge hammer. What was she doing!? As if she'd been shocked, Harley pulled her hand back and jumped away from him, causing the clown to break into a stream of cackles.

She all but fell into her seat and watched as his shoulders shuddered from laughter – waiting for him to sober up. She didn't hear the footsteps of the guards as they came down the corridor to collect her hysterical patient.

'Dr. Quinzel the time's up.' The heavy door swung open and two uniformed men stepped warily in.

Joker showed no signs of exhaustion, every now and then looking up at Harley's flustered expression and descending into a new wave of louder cackling. He was hauled to his feet and led out. With a slight sigh, Harley rose and left the room behind him. At least she was still alive, that was more than could be said for a lot of his doctors after their first session. The thought made her feel a little guilty and if she was honest with herself, a little pleased.

Harley watched his athletic form disappear around the corner. He'd had two turns and she'd only had one - she was owed a truth. _Next time,_ she thought with anticipation.

 **I hope this chapter was fun to read, it took me a while to figure out how I wanted their first session to go! Before the plot moves too far on, I was wondering which people would prefer – a slow-burn fic or one that doesn't beat around the bush too much! I want the story to be fun to read so please tell me which you'd like more in the reviews :) Hope everyone has a good week xx**


	6. Chapter 6

**I just want to say I HAVE NOT ABANDONED THE STORY! The last month or two have been so busy with exams I've had barely any time to write - which has been** ** _killing_** **me. Luckily they finished a few days ago, so I have the whole summer ahead of me to work on new chapters! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, faved and followed, it's really touching to see. This chapter is slightly longer than normal to say thank you for everyone's patience, hope you enjoy :)**

'Why 'Joker'?'

The clown tilted his head back and flashed his signature grin at the ceiling as Harley's pen hovered over her notes. 'Why not?' He answered, his deep voice bouncing off the cold, concrete walls of the therapy room.

Her eye brows pinched together ever so slightly as she frowned; chewing her lip. 'What does that name mean to you?' She pushed as gently as she could, trying to ignore the light patter of rain hitting the glass of the window on her left.

Gotham's notoriously bad weather had returned, no surprise there, and the water seemed to have worked its way through Harley's raincoat and into the fabric of her shirt; making the material cling to her chest in a less than modest way. It was too bad she didn't keep any spare clothes at work. All she could do was shrug on a lab coat and arrange the wet tendrils of her hair into a knot at the back of her head.

To make her feel even more self-conscious, while she was looking like a hot mess, the man opposite her looked like sin dipped in silver. The Joker flexed his muscular shoulders and rolled his head forward; fixing her with his cool gaze. 'I'm not sure you'd get it Doc.'

Harley rested one elbow on the back of her chair and raised an eyebrow incredulously. 'Try me.'

His eyes swept over her, his porcelain face bending into an expression of calculation as he drank in her features. Harley felt abruptly insecure and inwardly cursed the familiar heat that was beginning to rise to her cheeks. She used the hand that was not on her chair to pull her white lab coat tighter around her body and crossed her legs under the table. It was almost like he was _looking_ for something, which certainly didn't help her to feel any less uncomfortable.

'You really wanna know?' Joker's low drawl sounded almost playful, but she wasn't fooled. His lupine eyes held a seriousness that was absent from his appearance.

'I _am_ owed a truth Mr. Joker' At this, a wolfish grin spread slowly across his lips.

'You'll be unhappy to hear you aren't the first to ask…'

Harley's face fell. _Dammit_. She'd completely forgotten about that.

'However…I'll make an exception to my rule as long as you promise to make an exception to one of _yours_.'

She jumped at the offer before he could change his mind. 'Done.'

'I chose Joker sweetheart, because I've truly seen the citizens of Gotham for what they _are_. They're all actors – playing the role given to them by a corrupt and hypocritical power.' The words rolled leisurely off his tongue and were accompanied by the widening of his enthralling eyes; making the inked _J_ on his cheek warp slightly. His whole body moved as he talked with charisma and undeniable charm. Harley got the feeling that he could command the attention of a crowded room instantly if he chose to.

'The whole system's a joke Doc. Everyone has the _illusion_ of choice but their lives are _already_ planned out for them before they even take their first breath. They all have 'values' shoved in their heads to live by and laws to make sure they do as they're told. It's so _superficial_.'

Pausing to study her reaction, his tongue darted out to lick his lips. The only sound in the room was her light breathing and her pen scribbling across the page, leaving a trail of curly script.

'I embrace my true nature Doc. I live without the conditioning of society. I'm not part of the _plan_ because I don't do what everyone _else_ does.' His voice held a slight lilt of distaste as he spoke, similar to the revulsion you'd feel if you turned over a rock to find mold or slimy insects underneath.

'Humanity these days is like a deck of cards. But I'm not like the rest of them, I'm not spades or diamonds or hearts or clubs – I don't fit the pattern. I _am_ the Joker. I don't follow suit.'

Harley placed her biro on the table when she finished copying down what he'd said, with a quiet, metallic clink. His face had been so animated as he'd spoken to her – filled with such conviction. The clown's passion was infectious - he truly did have a way with speaking.

In that moment, Harley found she actually _could_ see what he meant. The Joker's actions were symbolic of his own personal philosophy - he was unpredictable because he didn't do what everyone expected – not even for a criminal. In a twisted way, what he was saying made sense – even if she didn't necessarily share his view.

Harley tugged on the sleeve of her lab coat as she re-read his words, trying to slip into a professional demeanor. When she reached his final sentence, she did a double take. _Holy shit_. He'd made a pun.

She glanced up at his amused face. It just seemed so totally absurd of him to put in his speech; not fitting at all with his low, fervent tone of voice or what they were discussing. The ridiculousness of his terrible play on words did something totally strange to her. Suddenly, she couldn't suppress the giggles that spilled over her cherry-red lips and echoed off the grey walls. Her sides hurt as she laughed and laughed and laughed.

The Joker's mouth broke into a wide, metal smile, his silver teeth flashing under the overhead lighting. 'You really are full of surprises aren't you Doc?'

Embarrassed, she drew in a few deep breaths to try and regain her composure. What was she doing? Harley pushed her glasses further up her face and fiddled with her loose strands of hair as her chuckles subsided.

'You know if you think about it sweetheart,' He said as his piercing eyes captured hers, 'I'm actually freer than _you_.'

At this Harley shook her head with a smile, ignoring her flaming cheeks. 'Says the man in a straitjacket.'

He grinned wryly. 'We both know I won't be in a straitjacket for long love.' She looked down at her hands in understanding. 'And when I get out, I'll be completely unrestricted. I will do whatever the hell I want, whatever entertains me, whatever takes my fancy. That's freedom Doc. Are you free?' His skeptical expression suggested he thought otherwise.

Harley opened her mouth in protest but then closed it again, as she was struck with the realisation that he was actually kind of right. Wherever she went, there were always rules to follow; speed limits and social norms. But was that necessarily a bad thing? Maybe it wasn't. If the whole world was full of people like Joker, then everything would be chaos. So wasn't society the safest version of freedom? Which was better for everyone…right?

Harley forced herself to look up. 'I'm free to choose to do 'whatever the hell I want' as you put it, but I actually _want_ to follow the law, it's there for a reason. Anything legal I could easily decide on doing.'

His eyes narrowed slightly, causing her to involuntarily suck in a sharp breath of air. She'd almost forgotten who she was talking to – this wasn't just another minimum risk patient – Joker was dangerous, even when restrained. Would her challenging tone insult him? Thrill him?

'Prove it.'

She was taken aback by the sudden intensity in his gaze. 'What?'

'Prove to me that you _are_ free…by your terms.' He added with a wicked purr.

Harley laughed nervously. 'And just how would I do that?'

'Tonight, instead of going to sleep at nine like you always do,'

'How do you know I-'

'Go to a club. I would recommend the 'Grin and Bear it' – if you give my name to the security there, I guarantee they'll let you in free of charge.'

'Unlike you I have work tomorrow! How can I do my job when I'm hungover?'

'One, I didn't say to drink anything, what you do when you get there is up to you. Two, I'm you're only patient toots – ergo I _am_ your job. And I don't mind whatever state you come to work in, so you've got no excuse.' He hummed.

Harley licked her lips uncertainly. This was utterly ridiculous.

'Why would I even agree to that?'

'Because sweetheart, you promised me earlier you'd make an exception to one of your rules and given the vast range of things I could've asked you to do – I would say I'm going easy on you. Also, you're _curious_. You want to know what it feels like to be totally reckless and just do something because you can…Don't you?' He flashed her a knowing smirk.

Ashamed, Harley lowered her eyes to the table. Somewhere deep inside, that was something she wanted. There was a part of her that longed to break out of her ordinary daily routine, but she refused to act on it. Her life was good right now, better than it had been in a long time. She was earning a decent salary and showing everyone who'd doubted her what she was capable of. It was perfectly normal to crave a little chaos, but she knew better than to give in to it; no matter how tempting...

Harley tried to hide her thoughts with a scowl. She didn't think for a second that the Joker fell for it, being the complete open book that she was. He leaned back in his chair with a smug expression on his face as he watched her every emotion pass behind her eyes.

Abruptly, the heavy metal door behind the clown swung open with a reverberating clang and two guards stepped in. Harley had been so absorbed in his words and her own thoughts she hadn't even heard them approach. 'Time's up Dr. Quinzel.' She nodded curtly, ignoring the twinge of disappointment that washed through her.

Without a backwards glance, Joker allowed himself to be lead away from the therapy room.

Harley let out a breath once their footsteps were out of ear shot. There was no way was she going to accept his challenge; it wasn't a sensible idea at all. Besides, she didn't need to prove anything. She was a strong, independent, successful women who would damn well go to bed at nine o' clock if she wanted to. She was _not_ getting sucked into his mad suggestion like an impressionable child. _But I promised_ … What if it was a trap of some sort? _No,_ she decided, _it's far safer to stay at home_. With that defiant thought, she gathered her notes pages and shakily stood up, scolding herself for how poorly she'd conducted their session to allow their conversation to stray so off track. _Again_.

* * *

That evening, Harley sat on her sofa with her hair swept back in a messy bun; dressed only in a long, faded t-shirt and a pair of purple panties. She'd already finished half her Margarita pizza, and had settled in for a night of doing absolutely nothing.

Just as the adverts between the programme she was watching finished, there was a sharp knock at the door. She hadn't been expecting anyone; maybe it was a neighbour asking her to turn the T.V down? It wouldn't be the first time.

Pushing the pizza box off her lap, she stood up, stretching her arms like a cat, before padding over to her apartment door. When she opened it, there was no one in sight. How strange. Harley's eyes fell onto the doormat, where a large parcel was resting.

She poked her head outside her door frame, looking up and down the empty corridor, but everything was silent. With a shrug, she lifted the brown package up and brought it inside, shutting the door with her heel as she headed back into her flat. Obviously there must have been some sort of mistake with the delivery address, but as she turned the mystery parcel over in her hands, she realised that it didn't have one.

Sitting cross-legged on her rug, Harley ripped off the brown tape and cautiously opened the package. Her curious eyes were met with a mass of crinkled, white tissue that smelt of roses and a distinctly exotic, floral perfume. She breathed in its tropical aroma for a second, letting it wash over her face, before reaching her fingers into the box.

Carefully moving the tissue out of the way, she laid eyes on possibly the most beautiful dress she had ever seen. With a soft gasp, she lifted the clothing out of the box and held it up in front of her. _It's gorgeous._ Marveling at the fabric, which weighed almost nothing in her hands, she let out a sound of appreciation as she ran her finger tips gently over the black material. It felt as smooth as silk and shimmered when it caught the light.

Still left nestled in the tissue at the bottom of the package, was a pair of equally stunning heels. Carefully setting the lovely dress on the carpet next to her, she lifted a shoe out the box to get a closer look. Their design was elegant, with a good four inch heel. She twisted them in her fingers and was shocked when she was rewarded with flashes of purple and green. Although they had originally appeared a sleek black, they were dotted with tiny, sparkling flecks of colour. One shoe by itself was probably worth more than her entire apartment.

On both the inside of the shoes and on the label of the black dress was a cursive, golden J. Upon seeing this, she frowned. No way. They couldn't be from _him_ could they? He was locked up in Arkham! It was impossible…right?

Despite this, Harley got the feeling that the package in front of her had not arrived because of a mix up in delivery, the timing was to perfect to be a coincidence. After all, who else would spend such a ridiculous amount on her? She wasn't even sure Bruce Wayne himself could afford these garments.

She felt goose bumps rise along her arms as she hoped that delivering the gifts was his only motive for finding out where she lived (which was creepy in itself) and not anything more...menacing.

Sighing, Harley closed her eyes. The items really were breath-taking. Maybe he would be insulted if she didn't use them after paying so much to get them for her? At the moment, their relationship seemed good (although that could all be an act on his part which she wouldn't be the first to fall for). Maybe snubbing his generosity was the wrong move. Besides, she did need a break, the last few weeks had probably been the most stressful ones of the job yet. _Maybe I need a little me time to let go_. She mused. _It could do me good_. And of course there was that stupid promise she'd made – he'd come through on his side of the deal – it was only fair to return the favor.

Her gaze ran over the heavenly dress again. She was _dying_ to try it on. _I can at least see if it fits can't I?_ She reasoned.

Twenty minutes later, Harley scrutinised herself in front of the bathroom mirror. Her black-lined, smokey eyes stood out against her naturally pale complexion; as did her blood-red lipstick. Her hair hung in silky waves down her back, tickling her shoulder blades, and she'd subtly filled in her perfect, curved eyebrows.

The dress felt as incredible on as it did in her hands. The smooth material hugged her curves and came halfway down her thigh – keeping her modesty but also showing off her long legs - which even she could admit looked stunning in the (surprisingly comfortable) heels. Harley looked at the unrecognisable goddess in the mirror and shook her head in disbelief, watching the reflection do the same. She looked like a whole new person and in a good way - the thought sent thrills down her spine.

Harley felt a swell of confidence flood her system – something she hadn't experienced in an embarrassingly long time. It was euphoric and very welcome. Allowing herself to be swept up in this tide of elation, she made her decision.

After a final head-to-toe glance, she grabbed her handbag and keys from the side, took the lift down and stepped out into the cool night in search of a taxi. She wasn't turning back now.

 **Just as a side note for those of you who didn't get Joker's pun that he 'doesn't follow suit' - 'follow suit' as in to do the same as someone/everyone else, but also as in a 'suit' of cards - which in his analogy he doesn't 'follow' as he isn't 'spades or diamonds or hearts or clubs' because he's the _Joker_. **


End file.
